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It's My Story.
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It's My Story.
With each new day my body screams a new youthful transgression.
Wasted years, Time chases me with a grim humor.
Will I see my dream or will it be my legacy.
My stand-in takes the journey I was meant to travel.
The Labor is at a furious pace n patience is given.
Old friends stalk the progress, hands out for a piece of the action.
I wait n then wait some more, not wanting to give more precious days.
Time once abundant, becomes short.
A Childs dream still waits.
I had an amazing early childhood.
Born into a 24x24ft cinder block house, 2nd born of 5 boys.
This type of house was common in our small neighborhood, I can think of 4 or 5 of them off the top of my head.
As my brothers started arriving an additional 24x24ft cinder block house was added to the north end of the original with the help of my grandpa Woodcock.
More boys meant further expansion n the low pitch roof was raised radically to add an entire second story.
My brothers n I ran the upstairs bunkhouse.
Yes we were probably considered poor, I knew what welfare spam, cheese n peanut butter were.
Unlike some who ate Welfare spam n hate it now, I still love Fried Spam.
I feel no shame about my preteen childhood, actually the opposite, it was magical
To my brothers: Virgil, David, Dennis n Lloyd.
This is the childhood that I prefer to remember.
The Hour is late, time to make peace with a life lived.
Yesterday I was out talking with some friends n I Told them.
My Grandfather was the town drunk in Farwell Michigan.
My Father was a bit of an angry Alcoholic.
My Mother Died from I believe a Drug overdose in her mid 40s.
I looked at the people around me after I said this n in silence they replied, That's pretty Bleak.
We choose our memories, I dump all that trash I just shared n prefer to remember my childhood the way I want to.
a memory of my 8th Birthday in 1959.
My Mom decided to get my 4 brothers n I Cowboy Guns n Holsters.
Being my Birthday, I got 1st pick the Roy Rogers Double Holster n guns.
Last night while getting in the shower I had the vivid memory of us 5 boys walking down to Pete's store in our Cowboy Hats n Toy guns n Holsters.
My guess more than one of us wearing chaps n vests.
Just a beautiful memory of 5 boys ranging in age from 3 to 10yrs old decked out as cowboys getting ready to spend there quarters on cartoon supplies ready for the days adventures.
That quarter each of us 5 boys got, Dad had to haul away 2 1/2 barrels of other Folks ashes to get it so he could give it to us.
Back in the 1950s almost everybody I knew had a 55gallon metal burn barrel that they burned there trash in.
Dad was the guy that emptied those barrels n took them to the town dump.
He earned .50cents per barrel to haul it away in his truck, 5 boys eat a lot.
The Baseball field my Dad created behind our house out of an overgrown field.
His work ethic that I carry with me to this day.
My Mom was the most big hearted woman I've ever met, she was also my biggest booster.
She would tell me over n over n over who I was until it stuck.
I was not an easy child to say the least, yet every scrape I got in there she was to help pull me out of it.
Mom wanted everything for her 5 boys n she got in a bit of trouble here n there giving it to us.
Today people laugh when I call the clothes I'm wearing my outfit.
I think that I get that from my mother, she was really into outfits n loved dressing her boys.
I tried explaining an example to Kathryn Ann.
Back when the Brothers of The Brush was a thing.
Kathryn Ann, WHAT! wait a minute what the hell was that.
Obviously, a southside thing.
Anyway men grew beards n people dressed like Barbershop Quartets.
Still with me? Anyway mom made us boys matching outfits with vests.
So anyway I call what I wear each day my outfit.
I choose to remember the good n I reject the bad.
Our minds are tricky little mouse traps.
Some choose to grind away at all the ugly in our lives n then lead very sad lives, never thinking that they actually have a choice...
Forgive me but I do not choose to share my life with these folks, there negative energy just drains the life out of me.
They have made there choice, I could easily match them ugly memory for ugly memory.
My choice though is to view my life differently.
I do though have room in my life for people with mental issues n a true desire to find a path to understanding n better.
I try to share the tools that I've found that help.
On the contrary, people who choose ugly just take n take n take.
It's a Black hole of self pity, you just can't give enough to save them.
I'm on the threshold of accomplishments that others think impossible.
Why, How?
By not wallowing in failure n self pity.
I used the encouragement of my mother n the work ethic of my father.
I took the Good of my life's story as a product n sold it.
I turned everything negative in my life into an asset, then used them to victory.
I did the work n believed in myself for 20yrs.
I really Don't have a clue if my writing is any good or not, but to be honest I don't care.
I try to write with honesty n allow my words to cut deeply into my soul.
I allow my life to be an open book without shame.
I try to share the words we all hide from each other.
A life lived.
If You do not write your story, others will write it for you.
I touched on all of this yesterday in Rocky Rangoo, but felt it deserved a better look.
I take a great deal of pride in my story, you should too.
Stories of the hardship of a life survived with happiness are truly rich. These stories are your wealth.
Believe it or not, I still have not shared everything about my story or Pez Outlaws story..
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